


Moments Together

by CerysKitty



Series: Soft Dom Fills [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers Generation One
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 06:47:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3926926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerysKitty/pseuds/CerysKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short fills, written for a Tumblr 'Soft Dom' meme. Longer fills will have their own story within the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "That’s it, keep cumming." Ultra Magnus/Rodimus

“Come on, you can do it.” Magnus murmured into Rodimus’ audial, trying to encourage the wreck of a mech currently slumped against his chest. His captain was making inarticulate noises into his shoulder, and Magnus could see his hands clenching were they where tied behind his back.

“Come on, just a little more.” Rodimus whined again, and Magnus idly wondered if his optics were offlined in bliss, or overbright and unseeing, but the blindfold was a good one, not letting any light in, nor out. It was always best to blindfold his captain, his pet, for this sort of thing. When he could see, he liked to put on a show and tease, and he’d found taking that sight was the easiest way to  reduce him to this; relaxed and open, susceptible to his touch, and rather than attempting to get what he wanted, Rodimus took whatever he was given, and begged all the more for it.

“Come on, you’re doing so well.” And when Rodimus’ walls were down, when he felt free and cared for, Magnus had found that he could overload harder and longer than ever. Today he was testing that, one hand on his spike, with three fingers stuffed into his valve. He’d kept him on the edge for so long though, that it was taking a while to bring him to enough awareness to actually overload, and he crooked his fingers encouragingly.

He felt it when it started, a twitch around his fingers, and then another, and Rodimus tensed against him even as he pinched the base of his spike.

“Ssh, valve first.” He spread his fingers again, ignored the dripping mess in his palm, and with a couple of gentle thrusts Rodimus toppled over, moaning pitifully against him as he worked him through his overload, and dragged it out. When he felt Rodimus’ tension ease, just slightly, he started with the spike again, and all it took was two firm strokes and Rodimus wailed again.

This time he didn’t wait, and with ease he flicked on the flat vibrator he held in his palm, and pushed it roughly against Rodimus’ nub, grinding it against him while his fingers kept working his valve. The next overload didn’t even wait for the last to ebb.

“That’s it, keep cumming.” And Rodimus did, beyond words he just panted and trembled in Magnus’ arms, while he worked his hands, milking his spike of transfluid while he nudged a fourth finger against the rim. “Ssh, come on, keep it up, you’re doing good, good boy.” The fourth overload came easily, and Magnus managed to work Rodimus through another two, before he collapsed against him, slurring words and not quite offline.

“Good boy, you did well tonight.” He pulled his fingers away gently, but stopped when Rodimus whined. “You want more?” A pathetic nod, and he could feel the whisper of ‘please’ against his plating, and with a sigh he pushed his fingers back in, easily fitting in four fingers with how wet and stretched his valve was. “Fine, a couple more then.”


	2. "Why don't you make the two of us some tea?" Ratchet/Drift

Ratchet held Drift as he overloaded, soothed his whines as the last tremors ebbed out of his frame, and pet his neck comfortingly. Drift always overloaded harder when he was bound up like this, but he was also so much more fragile, easier to break and remould, but it would be a while before he came back to himself, lost the dazed look in his optics.

He whispered into his audial as he maneouvered themselves, held Drift up as he reached to unhook the main carabiner from the elaborate web of chains and rings. Soothing words, mostly praise littered amongst whispers of how beautiful he was, how proud Ratchet was of him and of how well he’d done, and slowly Drift’s noises quietened, though Ratchet knew he still wasn’t quite ready yet.

With careful hands, he brought Drift down until his feet touched the floor, and then he carefully sank down with him, comfortably sat against the berth with Drift curled in his lap. He worked on his shoulder joints first, massaging them as he pulled Drift’s arms to his front again, knowing full well the strain they’d been under with the way Drift had been held up, suspended from the floor in a beautiful arch. And from shoulders he worked down to his wrists, stroking and rubbing while he unbound the heavy straps, and he kissed Drift’s helm when he tucked it under Ratchet’s chin.

When Drift could wriggle his fingers again, move his arms comfortably, Ratchet moved to his waist, and then his thighs and legs, until the straps were all in a neat pile on the floor, and Drift was a comfortable, quiet huddle in his lap.

He stroked over the last thing, the thick collar around his neck, but Drift just whined and buried himself deeper into Ratchet’s arms.

_Not yet._

It was expected, and Ratchet didn’t stop his murmurs until Drift fully relaxed, uncurled himself slightly and looked up at him, optics dim and adoring. His lips moved, but the sound was so quiet, Ratchet didn’t hear it, but Drift’s expression was more than enough.

“Let’s move, get the energon flowing right again.” He helped Drift up, not taking his hand from him for a second, not while Drift still needed it. “Why don’t you make the two of us some tea? You got a new blend today didn’t you?”

A slow nod. Drift was still dazed, still needy and desperate to be told exactly what to do, to give up all control and just feel. It had been an intense session, so Drift might be in this daze for a couple of days perhaps, but Ratchet would know when he finally came to him, asked him to remove the collar so that they could return to normal life.

Until then, easy orders, and long, extensive aftercare, and Ratchet smiled at the thought of being able to look after Drift for just a little while longer.


	3. "No need to be shy, it’s just you and me." Perceptor/Drift

Drift always looked so beautiful like this, frame criss-crossed with red rope, arms pulled behind his back so that he couldn’t hide his face. He always tried, no matter how long they’d been doing this, and Perceptor had made it an artform, pulling the responses from Drift, breaking him down until he gave in, lost his shyness and worries, and truly relaxed.

It was no wonder he was always so high strung when he first joined the Wreckers; no one had been able to give him what he needed, no one trustworthy enough to give himself over completely to, to break him and use him, and give him exactly what he craved.

He wasn’t able to hide his face, but he still glared, always did, even as the blush reached his finials, and he panted quietly as his charge rose.

Sometimes Perceptor would tell him what he saw, describe the way Drift’s panel leaked, even when he was doing his best not to give in, to let himself go. Or he’d just sit and watch, and wait for Drift to squirm under his gaze, not wanting to be the centre of attention, even while he craved it.

Once, Perceptor had taken pity on him, let him hide himself in the berth covers while Perceptor had taken him from behind, but Drift hadn’t relaxed then, had just left his room even more anxious and hostile, and it had taken a few hours of one on one attention to sooth it all out again. He wouldn’t make that mistake again, not when Drift needed him.

 But a lifetime of walls, solidly built and reinforced with millennia of hardship, they were hard to break down, even though Perceptor was getting so much better. Drift trusted him, emphatically and absolutely, and Perceptor would do this for him, help him destroy those walls, until he found a way to accept himself.

He knelt next to him, a soft hand brushed over his leaking panel, and he hushed him when Drift jerked and tried to pull away.

“None of that now, we both know you need this.” Drift just whined, even as his frame slumped and he let Perceptor tilt his head up, staring into each other’s optics. “Tell me what you need.”

Another whine, but Perceptor was patient, and his thumb stroked into Drift’s hip joint encouragingly. It took a while, what felt like an age of staring into Drift’s face, watching the emotions play over it, but eventually the frown broke, and that beautiful, open mech he knew came to the front, begging him wordlessly for his help.

“…Can’t…” He tried to glance away, but Perceptor caught his chin before he could.

“Ssh, no need to be shy, it’s just you and me. You can trust me Drift, just tell me what you need.”

And Drift broke, fell into Perceptor’s arms as he sobbed out everything, what he needed, what he craved, what he felt he didn’t deserve, and Perceptor held him through it, even as the panel under his hand clicked open, and he slipped his fingers inside. The first overload was always the hardest, but they were making progress, and Drift mumbled his thanks as the charge crested, and Drift slipped into his first overload of the night.


End file.
